Midnights, March: 22 — Carrie Muller

First day of spring, and she let us know it. To celebrate, watch me sketch a little something in real time:

Draft 1:

I had a best friend in first grade who still sucked her thumb. Not all the time, but if we were watching a movie, she’d pop it in there. [Also her house was always FULL of candy but she never suggested we sneak any during sleepovers, which was disappointing to say the LEAST. Like if Willy Wonka never sampled his own creations. Wait—do you think he ever snacked? Did the Oompa Loompas? Does Oompa-Loompa have a hyphen? No it does not. Probably Willy never got too high off his own supply, otherwise the whole Augustus Gloop song wouldn’t go so hard on the virtue of moderation. Unless—!] Consequently, her fingers were always a little bit red and a little bit damp. They were small, too, like […like what? Like soggy matchsticks. Maybe. Her dad used to eat birthday candles as a party trick—is there anything there?] soggy matchsticks. [Her mother was always listening to Shania Twain and had the obligatory ‘90s themed kitchen, though I didn't recall what the theme was.] This friend was an only child, and I guess that's what I thought only children were like: [Oh, her mom also made QUILTS. The process seemed needlessly complicated and joyless to me. Insert earlier:] We used to play Mario Kart, and her tiny hands on the controller were so much better than mine. I didn't have any sort of console at home, but I thought maybe it was the slight tackiness of her fingers that kept her from spinning out on the beach track. [What was it called? KOOPA TROOPA BEACH! I found a video of it and saw the exact spot where I would always overcorrect and spin into the water. Maddening.]

[Okay, now to give a messy draft some meaning. Take out all the Willy Wonka stuff and other unimportant asides. I actually think the candy part is important, but phrase it differently. I want to express a difference between her and me but without getting into the weeds. She had her own room! I shared with my sister! She had jugs filled with sour belts! I had a dozen chocolate chips for dessert that I would stage weddings for, with a honeymoon in my belly! Who cares? I'm most interested in the candy, actually, because I think it expresses that best. But I don't want to dive into narrative; I want to keep it light and observational with humor and distance. And I'm still interested in the small hands that made her seem like a baby even though…what? Even though she had all this stuff. Everything she could want. Why did she still need to suck her thumb? And what does it say about me that I just wanted to eat all her candy she didn't care about?]

Her head would drift onto my shoulder, her mouth would fall open to reveal a tiny thumb damp with [desire? Ew, no. Greed? Discontentment? There is a word for this, I know it. Damp with…maybe “damp” is the problem. Clammy? Is that better?] to reveal a tiny thumb, red and worried.

Draft 2:

I had a best friend in first grade who still sucked her thumb. Not all the time, but if we were watching a movie, she’d pop it in there. As a result, her fingers were always a little bit red and a little bit damp, small and brittle like soggy matchsticks. Her house was so different from the bustle and noise and crowd of mine: Her mom always had a quilt in progress, spread over the dining table that was never used for dining. The process seemed needlessly complicated and joyless to me, but she put on a Shania Twain CD and resumed her meticulous work, leaving us to play endless games of Mario Kart. My hands were clumsy on the controller. I didn't have any sort of console at home. Secretly I wondered if maybe it was the slight tackiness of her fingers that kept her from spinning out on Koopa Troopa Beach. The greatest wonder of her house was the pantry. My memory of it overflows with candy—candy that would be a cinch to reach if we climbed up the shelves, but I understood that it’s bad manners to suggest climbing the cabinets in other people’s houses. Despite my restraint, my friend never suggested we sneak any during sleepovers, which was disappointing to say the LEAST. This friend was an only child, and I guess that's what I thought only children were like: a pool in the backyard, a Nintendo 64 with two controllers, and a pantry full of candy you never needed to eat because it was always there. Before wiggling into sleeping bags we’d curl up on the couch with a movie and before the end her head would drift onto my shoulder, her mouth falling open to reveal a tiny thumb, red and worried.

[Hokay. It’s a little stilted still, needs a little pruning, more flow and resonance, but it’s getting there. Maybe less about the mom. I dunno.]

Draft 3:

I had a best friend in first grade who still sucked her thumb. Not all the time, but if we were watching a movie, or after snuggling down into our sleeping bags at night, she’d pop it in there. For comfort, I suppose. Or out of habit. Either way, her fingers were always a little bit red and a little bit damp, small and brittle like soggy matchsticks.

Most of our sleepovers took place at her house, so different from the noise and bustle of sisters and pets at mine. Her mom always had a quilt in progress, spread over the dining table that was never used for dining. The process seemed needlessly complicated and joyless to me, but she’d put on a Shania Twain CD and resume her meticulous work, leaving us to play endless games of Mario Kart side by side on the living room rug. My hands were clumsy on the controller since I didn't have any sort of console at home, but secretly I wondered if maybe it was the slight tackiness of her fingers that kept her from spinning out on Koopa Troopa Beach.

The greatest wonder of her house, though, was the pantry. My memory of it overflows with candy—candy that would be a cinch to reach if we climbed up the shelves, but I understood that it’s bad manners to suggest climbing the cabinets in other people’s houses. Despite my restraint, she never suggested we sneak any during sleepovers, which was disappointing to say the least. This friend was an only child, and I guess that's what I thought only children’s lives were like: a pool in the backyard, a Nintendo 64 with two controllers, a bedroom to yourself, and a pantry full of candy you never needed to eat because it was always there. Her life held endless riches, wonderful variety—why did she only want to drop banana peels on Rainbow Road and watch my Yoshi plummet to his doom?

After dinner we’d curl up on the couch in front of a movie, and before the end her head would invariably drift onto my shoulder, her mouth falling open to reveal fingers curled beneath a tiny wet thumb, red and worried.

[There we go. Not perfect, but Good Enough. Now. What are your thoughts on the process? Did it come together in a satisfying way, or does it still feel lacking? Leave me a critique! But be gentle, please. I am FRAGILE.]